The Living Bride
by angeloftheoperaaa
Summary: A story of what might have happened, had Christine returned to Erik before she married Raoul de Chagny. Very fluffy, character development, no Raoul bashing, ALW based with Leroux and Kay undertones.
1. Down Once More

Approaching the old opera house is much more difficult than the young soprano, Christine Daàe, had imagined. Not because of the fallen debris, or the scorched marble staircase she has to climb to reach the top. Nor is it the bittersweet memories that fill her mind when she manages to open the large, wooden door that leads inside. No, what is difficult is the task she has set for herself, the entire reason she is here: her angel of music.

Christine wraps her arms around herself with uncertainty as she attempts in vain to find her old dressing room. The opera house is a wreck, fallen debris and burnt remains scattered across the floor. The reminder of what he did is almost too much, almost enough to make her turn back and leave. _I came here for a reason, and I intend to fulfill my purpose._ After hearing that the Phantom was never found and assumed dead, Christine could not, in her right mind, get married to the man who caused his demise. She admits she even shed tears for the man who once inspired her voice, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, she _did_ care for him. And then there she was, about to wed the very same man she had gone to and betrayed her angel.

 _It wasn't like Raoul meant to..._ she attempts to reason, but then she pauses. _Actually,_ she thinks, _his plan_ was _to kill him all along._ Shaking the thought out of her head, she moves a burned side table out of the doorway which had been blocking the very room she had come to after her first performance. _That night feels so long ago._ Fighting back tears, she steps into the debris filled room and looks around.

There are scorched paintings, flowers that have been long dead, and furniture that looked it might break if you so much as breathed on it. Yet, in the center of the room, still stood the mirror, seemingly untouched and unfazed by the dark reminders around it. That same mirror from which he had come to Christine, and she had followed him through. For a moment, it seems almost as if nothing has changed. She is still that young girl, waiting for her mysterious angel who calls out to her. Yet, it is not the same; for no sound emits from behind the mirror. The thought sends unwelcome chills down Christine's spine and she swallows a sob as she slowly approaches the mirror, pulling it open.

Behind it, Christine half expects to find those lit candelabras lining the walls with that mysterious glow which stills haunts her dreams. But the hallway is as dark as death, the only light is that of which is behind her. _I should have brought a torch!_ She scolds herself, opening the mirror widely to let as much light in as she can.

The hallway is still dim and gravely, and Christine turns around, desperately searching for a matchbox. Her fingers fumble as she opens a blackened drawer where she once kept the flame sticks. Inside are burned letters, discarded articles of clothing and jewelry, a candle holder, and the box! Christine almost leaps with joy when she discovers the small device which could quite possibly save her from her suffering of darkness. Opening it quickly, she lights a match and goes out into the dark hall once again, wedging the box of matches into her corset. _Better safe than sorry._ Christine lights one of the candles and takes it out of the wall, setting it in the candle holder she found along with the matchbox before she begins to make her way, down once more through the dark passageway she once walked.

Darkness is not something Christine is very accustomed to, so as she walks down the dim, candlelit path, she feels herself start to panic. She turns behind, glancing longingly at the light of the dressing room she came from, and takes a dream breath. _I must do this. I must see if he is alive or not._ The thought of her angel-no, the _phantom,_ being dead surprisingly tugs at her heart and makes her feel very, extremely sad.

It is as though Christine is on auto pilot as she navigates through the tunnles, twisting and turning every which way until eventually she finds herself at the lake. _The boat,_ she gasps, _it is still here._ "Ah!" She suddenly seethes in pain and drops the candle stick quickly as hot wax drips down her tender hand. The candle extinguishes immediately as it hits the cold floor, leaving her in utter darkness. Suddenly Christine feels like crying, she feels like a little girl lost in the darkness with no light to guide her. Silent tears stream down her face, and she falls down, groping at the space in the ground to find the candle. Relieved, she wraps her hand around something that feels like the candle, only to discover it is definitely _not_ solid wax she is holding: it is a bone.

Christine screams out, throwing the bone into the lake with frightened tears running down her cheeks. "W-why?" She curls up on the cold ground, pulling her knees to her face as she sobs. "Am I to die here?" Christine's voice is shaken and scared as she speaks to no one but herself, and perhaps God. "Am I to die here? In my pursuit of redemption?" She buries her face in her hands and backs up against the cold wall.

"No," she pulls her hands away from her face, "no, this is not my fate, it cannot be." Christine takes a shaken breath, and reaches for the box of matches carefully wedged in her corset. She wraps her cold and frightened fingers around the box and slides it open with delacateness that she did not know she had. Lighting a match, she holds it out in front of her in attempt to find the candle once more. This time Christine does manage to find it, and grasps it quickly before the match burns out in her fingers.

Before her, she discovers the candle holder, which she places the candle in gratefully, and the rest of the skeletal body from which she had so innocently plucked a piece from just to throw into the murky lake. It looks like a soldier, though with its withered skin and sunken eyes, it is extremely hard to tell. If someone had told told Christine she would be doing this a mere week ago, she'd have called them mad. But here she is, in front of a ghostly corpse in a the catacombs, holding only a candle to light the way to someone who, may or not, be dead himself. "I apologize," she whispers to the corpse before her, although she knows he has been long dead and rotting for nearly six months.

 _Six months._ Six months since she has last seen him. Six months since she has left him. Six months since she has spent every moment with a maddening Raoul who drowns his anger and aggravation in alcohol.

With new found determination, Christine climbs aboard the boat and sets the candle down gently so she can grasp the pole with both hands. _I can do this...I can do this..._ she rows carefully in the darkness, and begins humming to calm her growing nerves.

Christine arrives at the open gate of his lair with a sudden loss for words. It looks so dark, so deserted. _No, he must be here._ She docks with a sudden sense of nostalgia and uneasiness and grabs the candle from the boat carefully. She walks slowly up the stairs and grabs a candelabra from his desk, lighting it with her candle before setting the almost completely melted stick of wax down. Turning, she takes in the sight around her, a growing uneasiness settled in her stomach.

"Angel?" Her voice is soft and gentle, and it is very clear that she is on the brink of tears. _I came all the way down here...He must be alive!_ She begins to panic, her breathing becoming rapidly faster as she thinks about how he might be dead for real.

Shakily, the young soprano approaches his organ. Her face is distorted in worry as she trails a finger down the dusty instrument before her. Christine stares down at his organ which once held so much life, now covered in cobwebs and dust. "No..." she starts to shake, and sets the lit candelabra on the side table; her hand at her mouth in horror. _He wouldn't just abandon his music._ "No!" She shouts, loud sobs escaping her mouth as she falls to the floor. _He's gone...he's dead._ "Angel..." she curls up in herself and sobs so hard that it is becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.

"Christine?"


	2. Beneath A Moonless Sky

The voice is soft, utterly bewildered and awestruck. Her tears subdue and she turns around, eyes full of hope. There he stands; alive, holding a candelabra himself, and his golden eyes filled with tears as he looks down at her.

She immediately jumps up, runs to her angel, and sobs in his arms, placing her head at his chest. "Oh god, I-I thought you had died," she holds him tightly, as if she has no intention of ever letting go, and he stands stock still, still not fully understanding the situation.

Erik sets down the candelabra slowly, and then reaches up to the sobbing girl in his arms with shaking hands. He had thought she would be pleased to hear of his death in the papers, knowing that he would never bother her again. And yet here, the young soprano stands. It is not the vicomte's arms she is in right now. No, she is in the embrace of a murderer, and yet she thought him not cruel, or wicked, or even evil. "C-Christine?" He whispers, then begins to stroke her chocolate curls with tender she realizes the position they're in, and she pulls away quickly as if he has struck her. Her entire demeanor shifts and she wraps her arms around herself with a guarded expression on her face.

"I-I didn't mean to do that," she whispers, and she blinks uneasily. _I came only to make sure he was alive...right?_ He starts to step towards her, but she takes an involuntary step back. "Please don't," she shakes her head, and the sight pains him deeply.

"You are the one who came to me, Christine," his voice sounds more harsh than intended, and she flinches lightly. She frowns, taking a shaky breath."Christine," his voice is a pained whisper, "Why are you here?"

The young soprano looks up at him with wide eyes. "I-I don't know," she lies, fumbling with her lets out a sigh and walks towards her; she starts to walk back once more.

"Stop, Christine," Erik commands. Then in a softer tone, he repeats himself, "Stop." She feels her cheeks reddening at his pained words, willing herself not to cry. "Why do you come here just to torture me?" He reaches a hand up to her face, and Christine unthinkingly snatches it away; though she still holds it in her small palm. They both seem entranced as they silently entwine their fingers, and Erik starts to breath rather shakily at the contact.

"I do not mean to," she whispers, still looking at their hands with an intense gaze. He is appalled, confused by her strange behavior, yet he cannot express in words his feelings for the first time in his life. He thinks back to her soft lips against his - the kiss they once shared so long ago - and unthinkingly raises a hand to her face. This time she does not refuse, only closing her eyes softly as the tips of his gloved fingers graze over her lips.

"Why are you here Christine?" Erik repeats, his voice strained as he tears himself away from gasps lightly as their fingers separate, and she attempts to compose herself, looking at anything but their hands. Her eyes settle on his chest, and she notices that the fabric is slightly parted, exposing some skin underneath his deep blue shirt. Blushing, she closes her eyes and looks away from him, but then she feels his hand lifting her chin back to look at him and her eyes snap open. "Christine, answer me," his golden eyes plead with her, ignoring her flushed face. "Please. Why?"

Christine takes a deep breath as tears begin to form. "I am to be wed tomorrow, to Raoul," she manages, and his eyes close with pain and he recoils, taking back his hand. "I could not even think to marry the man who, inevitably, caused the demise of the one I truly-" she brings her hands to cover her face as she shakes her head. _What am I saying?_ He looks down at her in surprise, but she does not notice him.

"The one you truly what, Christine?" His voice is soft and trembling, and he pulls her hands from her face, causing her to look up at him with tear-streaked cheeks. He wipes away the wetness and then holds the sides of her face to look up at him. "The one you truly what, Christine?"

Her eyes widen and a blush forms on her cheeks at his close contact; she swallows nervously. "It does not matter, you are alive," her voice is equally as soft and trembling and she shakes her head out of his grasp. _I cannot tell him. If I do, this will be so much more painful._

"Christine, please," the pain and longing in his voice breaks her heart, and she can no longer hold it back.

"Love!" she snaps, turning to meet his gaze, causing his eyes to word surprises her perhaps more than him, and she blinks, realizing what she has just said. Though it is not untrue, it is still something she never thought she would admit out loud. Perhaps she always loved him, perhaps she just now accepted her feelings, but it feels as though some large weight has been lifted off of her chest. _I love him...I love this man..._

He looks down at her with sadness and wonder, and she leans up and places a small kiss on his trembling she pulls away, she feels his body shudder under her touch. "I-I love you, angel," she whispers.

"Erik," he murmurs, his voice hazy and low. Christine tilts her head to one side, appearing confused. "My name," he breathes, "My name is Erik." She looks up at him in surprise, and his gaze falls on her rosy lips that were on his only moments before. "S-say it again, Christine," he grasps her small hand and clutches it with both of his own. "Say it with my name...please."

Her face flushes and she looks at his hands around hers before staring fixedly up at his golden eyes. "I love you, Erik," she whispers. At her words, Erik's eyes flutter closed and a small smile forms on his face.

He presses a soft kiss to the back of her hand, still holding it tightly, and opens his teary eyes to gaze down at this magnificent woman. The only woman to ever show him compassion, to ever allow him to touch her, to ever love him. "Ah Christine," he whispers passionately, "I have waited so long to hear those words come from your lips." He leans down and kisses her; gently at first, as if asking permission, and when she begins to reciprocate, he takes that as acceptance. Their mouths dance against each other's in the dim light, his hands threaded through her curly hair, and hers wrapped about his neck. After a moment they pull away, and Erik speaks breathlessly, "Oh, you must know how I love you, Christine." He gently strokes her cheek as tears begin to fall down the unmasked side of his face. "You must know I love you more than anything, my Christine," he begins to shake and shudder, breathing heavily.

She grasps both sides of his face and stares into his eyes, hoping to capture his full attention. "I know, Erik, I know," tears stream down her face as well, for their forbidden love has been seeded and rooted in her heart and she knows she can never let go. She leans up and kisses him again, attempting to convey her emotions to him while she now can. His tears fall onto her cheeks as their lips meld together with passion and love.

He then pulls away, a guarded look on his face as he looks down at her. "What of the boy?" His voice is smooth and endearing as he tries to keep himself under control. Erik could not help but wonder if she would change her mind yet again and run back to the handsome vicomte. She had no reason not to.

"I do not wish to marry Raoul," his thoughts are put to an end at Christine's determined words, and he sucks in a quick breath. _I cannot imagine going back to Raoul now, after all this, after my confession to Erik._ Slowly, she takes a deep breath and meets his gaze with her doe brown eyes. "I wish to stay here, with you," she whispers. She then looks down at her left hand, the hand that bares Raoul's ring, and slips it off gracefully. She stares up at Erik's golden eyes as she hears the satisfying _plop!_ the ring makes when she drops it into the water.

Erik's mind whirls and his heart soars at this new information and her actions, indicating she no longer holds affection towards her childhood sweetheart. "You," his voice comes out raspy and soft, so he clears his throat and tries again to speak. "You wish to stay here at your own free will?"

Christine nods enthusiastically, her words failing her as happy tears form in her eyes. She smiles and tries to speak again, her voice sounding softer yet more excited than usual. "D-do you still have my ring?" The young soprano blushes lightly as his eyes widen in surprise. He starts trembling, overjoyed at her willingness to stay.

"I realize that last time I did not give you a choice, and I apologize, but," he begins, then kneels down so that he is on one knee. Her eyes widen as she realizes what is happening, and she tries to the best of her ability not to interrupt him right now by screaming _yes_. He slips a ring off of his pinky finger and holds if out, taking her hand gently. "Will you, Christine Daàe, do me the greatest pleasure and honour of marrying me? To spend the rest of our days together and be my living bride?"

Overwhelmed and overjoyed, Christine leaps at Erik, sitting on his extended knee as she attacks him with a passionate kiss. As she pulls away from his lips, she holds out her hand and smiles up at him, "Yes."

He slips the ring onto her finger with care, and they both rise to their feet with yet another kiss. Erik turns her body, so that her back is pressed against him as she once was that night so long ago. "My living bride?" he murmurs against her as he nuzzles her neck, causing her to shiver in delight. "Mine?" he plants a small kiss just below her jaw, no roughness about him as he slowly carresses her body, memorizing every detail etched in her perfect shape as she arches back against him in pleasure.

"Yours," she murmurs back as he grasps her left hand and plants and kiss to where the sparkling ring rests comfortably on her finger. "I am yours," she repeats, "always." Suddenly she feels that familiar heat at the base of her stomach that she knows all too well from just being around Erik. That first time he held her, caressing her body with his hands, that moment they had at the masquerade, and when they were on stage together during Don Juan II.

He seems to have that certain affect on her, that makes her body ignite in flames with a single touch, look, or even with his voice. His sweet, melodic voice that led him to become her angel in the first place. _Raoul has never made me feel this way, not once._

He feels it too, toying with his emotions and his body in ways he has yet to explore. There is sudden need for each other then, they both know it, they both feel it, and silently Erik grasps her small waist with his large hands, lifting her up to meet his lips. Surprised, she wraps her legs around his waist and holds onto him tighter around the neck, somehow pulling him even deeper into their kiss. He walks to the bedroom with her still clinging to his body, and she willingly complies.

Seeing as they did not bring the candles in with them, the room is very dark, but they can see only what is necessary for them to continue. He lays her back on the bed and hovers over her, still continuing their passionate kiss. She reaches up for his mask and he automatically grasps her arm, breaking the kiss.

Her eyes widen, and yet she doesn't realize that the man can actually still see her, even cloaked in the darkness. "Erik," she whispers, "your face holds no horror to me, you know this." His body shakes and trembles as he allows her to remove his mask. Expecting to hear her gasp, her scream; he waits with his eyes closed shut tightly. He is greatly surprised when she pulls him down and turns his face, kissing his deformity. He gasps at the unknown feeling of someone else touching the skin which he always hides under his mask. She kisses every bump, every scar tissue, every crevice of his face and sings softly when she pulls away. "Erik, I love you," she sings it in the tone he sang to her just before she left him that last time they saw each leans up and kisses him once more, and he feels as though his heart might explode.

He breaks away from her lips slowly, "I love you too, my Christine." He then begins to plant small kisses at the space in between her jaw and her neck. She emits small gasps and sounds of pleasure and he continues more ardently, something in him ignited by the small sounds that come from her lips. Christine gasps loudly when his lips graze over the opening in her corset teasingly, almost as if asking permission. She nods, biting her bottom lip, and he tugs at the ties of the corset with his teeth, looking up at her with a darkened gaze. This small action causes Christine to arch her back against him, accidentally brushing her body flush against his.

"Erik," she murmurs, and he stops his dalliances, looking up at her heatedly.

"Tell me to keep going, or tell me to stop. I need to know now, Christine," his voice has become low and husky, causing something inside her to stir. As an answer, she grasps onto his shirt and pulls him down onto her rosy lips.

Suddenly, something falls out of her corset, causing both of them to gasp and pull away from each other. Erik picks it up, a perplexed look on his face as he observes the object. "Is this something you normally keep in your underclothes?" He questions with and arched eyebrow.

She blushes vigorously, now thankful for the darkness that blankets them. "Ah-" she clears her throat, "No," she murmurs, reaching up to grab the matchbox from the man who hovers over her. "I found them in my old dressing room...I used them to light a candle so I could navigate my way down here," after a moment of shocked silence from Erik, she continues. "Turns out I needed them, the candle extinguished when I reached the lake and I thought I was done for," she sighs and takes out a match to light a candelabra which resides on the bedside table. He watches her small movement with a dazed look. She lets out a nervous laugh when she turns back to him, the glow of the candelabra illuminating his strange expression, "What?"

"You...went through that just to find me?" Erik breaks the sudden silence that had settled between them with his awed words. He can't help but admire her apparent bravery, still surprised that she even had it in her.

She raises her eyebrow as she looks at him, seeing only the faint glow of his golden eyes in the dim light. She tilts her head slightly as she observes his shocked demeanor. "Of course I did, I only did what I had to do in order to find you...I love you," she finds his trembling hand in the darkness and presses a warm kiss to his palm.

His eyelashes flutter at her gesture, and he moves closer to her. "You never cease to amaze me, Christine," with those softly spoken words, he leans down and kisses her gently. She smiles against his lips and begins to reciprocate, deepening the kiss by wrapping her hands around the back of his neck and pulling him into her.

"Erik," Christine gasps when he trails his hands up and down her thighs, and her mind grows foggy. Erik pulls away from her lips to watch her reactions, taking in every small gasp and moan that emits from her mouth as his hands glide over her smooth skin. She squirms in response to his fingertips grazing her inner thigh, clinging to his shoulders with something akin to longing. Erik's breath lips press into a thin line as he explores this new sensation, teasing her with his strangely gentle fingers by tracing her most sensitive area. This is all too new for the both of them, but Erik cannot get enough of the small noises that emit from Christine's mouth, so he simply embraces the moment, closing his eyes briefly.

Christine, on the other hand, is a complete mess, she needs him right now, and his nimble fingers are only feeding the fire that has grown in the pit of her belly. "Erik, please..." as she softly speaks his name, his eye lids flutter open, his golden orbs meeting her doe brown eyes. The look she gives him then makes his heart pound in his chest and his breathing to become unsteady. Now, Erik has seen a numerous range of Christine's emotions, ranging from downright depressed to so happy that her heart might fall out of her chest. However, he has never seen an expression quite like this one on her lovely features; the look of pure lust.

"Christine?" His melodic voice comes out low and filled with pure wonderment as he gazes down at this woman he has loved for so long. Up until now, Christine has always been the perfect picture of innocence, always shy and polite, even during their lessons. But now, after seeing the pleading look on her face, pleading for him, he starts to doubt her innocence from before. He pulls away, leaving her breathless, then asks the question that has been plaguing his mind. "Are you sure you wish to do this? I mean...we are not married yet, we could wait."

Christine looks up at his face, taking in the sight of him finally ignoring his deformity as he talked to her. The great thing was, he didn't even seem to notice or care that his face was exposed. Then her thoughts are brought back to his question. "Erik," she begins, attempting to compose herself after the way his touch affected her. "I once gave you my mind, soul, and voice," she grabs his hand and places it just above her left breast so that he can feel her fast beating heart. "I now give you my heart," she pauses, looking up at his dazed golden eyes, "and my body," she whispers.

"Christine, I-"

"Please, I _want_ you." She starts to sit up, observing his heated expression when she slowly starts to unlace her corset, noticing how his eyes darken. Knowing that he can't deny Christine, he gives in to her wishes and leans down to kiss her passionately.

Right now, nothing matters but the two of them, clinging desperately to each other as they strip away the barriers that keep skin from skin. Though neither of them have done anything such as the likes of this before, their passions lead their minds and bodies to do what both of them have wanted to do for as long as either of them can remember. Deep into the night they make love, again and again, beneath a moonless sky.


	3. A Man

Erik has been called many things in life. He has been the Devil's child, teased and laughed at while people pass by his cage; throwing bits of food and splashing cheap ale on his face, making it hard for him to breathe. He has been called a ghost; considered an astral being even as he played his slow, melodic symphonies in the catacombs of the opera. He has even been called an angel, as undeserving he feels the title is, it _has_ been one of the "nicer" things he's been known as. He has been called many things, yes, but he has never, not even once, been called what he truly ought to be considered : a man.

Erik watches the young soprano, who has fallen asleep in his arms, with loving, golden eyes. Never before has he felt more alive, more of a man than he does in her sweet embrace. When she made love to him, the night before, he truly felt like a man. A man sharing the joys of the flesh with the one woman who he has ever loved.

He does not know, truly, what time it is. But should he have had to guess, he would probably say it is nearly three in the morning. Erik does not even know if he has even fallen asleep yet, for thought and wonderment has kept him awake for many hours.

Erik observes the gentle sway of her chest, rising and falling at her steady breathing. He breathes in the way her messy, chocolate curls frame her soft, delicate features. His golden eyes trail over her pink, plump lips, parted slightly as she breathes. And he notices the way her dark lashes contrast against her alabaster skin, an attractive amount of pink on the apples of her cheeks. She is, on all accounts, a living, breathing, porcelain doll. Erik sighs as he strokes her hair. He could not help but feel unworthy of her beauty and kindness.

Christine is exhausted, exhausted because of what he did to her. Remembering the night before, Erik's breath gets caught in his throat. She had been so _pleading,_ so _desperate_ for his affection when she clung to him; all barriers shed as they became one soul.

As he stands back and gazes upon her sleeping form, the Phantom feels a growing uneasiness in his stomach. His heart is thumping so loudly in his chest, that he is surprised she has not awoken from the sound. He feels many conflicting emotions; fear, love, confusion, but most of all, anger. With her? No, of course not. Erik can never stay mad at his angel for too long. But at himself? Oh yes. How had he let this happen? Surely she would furious when she woke up - she would regret what they'd shared.

Erik's tears start to stream down his face, and he decides that he cannot stay here. He cannot allow her to throw away her life by coming to him. As hard as it is, he _needs_ her to return to her true love. He works swiftly, like as shadow, careful as to not wake the delicate angel laying on his bed. His quick, nimble fingers button up his shirt, and then he pulls on his large, black cloak. He puts on his mask hesitantly, unable to help the feeling of guilt which tugs his heart.

The newly masked man pulls on his large, black boots, and starts to pack a bag of stuff he may need when he leaves. He packs his music sheets, some drawings of his beloved, and a couple pairs of pants and shirts. He has no idea where he will go, all he knows is that he must save his Christine from the wrong choice. Erik is about to leave the room, and whisper a goodbye to his angel, when he hears a small sigh, and sees her shift in the bed.

"Angel," she mumbles softly in her sleep, "I never got to..." her words trail off to something inaudible and she starts to shiver, wrapping her arms around herself, as though cold. "Please," she whispers, and lays back down on the bed, her shaking stopped. Erik cannot tear his gaze away from her. His heart is racing, and he is unsure of what he just witnessed.

Erik feels torn; he wants her to have the best life possible, but at the same time, he is an extremely selfish man. How can he refuse such an angel? How _can_ he refuse Christine? The one woman who has ever allowed his touch; who has ever _kissed_ him, and made love to him. Who has ever gazed upon his face without an ounce of fear in her body. In the midst of his reluctance, his suitcase slips from his fingers and falls to the ground, creating a loud _thunk!_ that echoes in the catacombs. Erik hides in the shadows quickly, becoming one with the darkness.

Christine launches forward, grabbing an unlit candelabra from the bedside table and holding it before her protectively. The red bed sheets cling to her body, and her messy curls fall in tumbles down to her waist. Her doe brown eyes glimmer with determination and fear as she holds the candle stick before her, searching the room for intruders. _Wait, this room._

The memories come back to Christine then. Her searching for her angel, finding him and confessing her love to him; his proposal, and her approval. She looks up at her left hand which holds the candelabra, and admires the gleaming ring, which twinkles from its rightful place on her ring finger. _Wait, where_ is _Erik?_ She looks beside her on the bed, finding it empty with ruffled sheets. "Angel?" Her voice is soft, almost inaudible. Panic courses through her veins. _What if Raoul found him? What if he died of a heart attack? What if-?_ She silences her own thoughts quickly before they become too extreme. She searches the dark room, her eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light, and then she sees him.

When her eyes meet Erik's, she soon becomes relaxed, and blushes lightly as she sets the candelabra back down. "I, um," she murmurs, not quite finding her voice. Then, out of the blue, she gets up out of bed, wrapping one of the red sheets around her nude body. The Phantom can't help but admire the way the thin fabric clings seductively to her petite, yet curved form. She walks right up to her angel and embraces his warm, unsteady form without hesitation. "Good morning, my love," she mumbles against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Erik feels like he might die in her embrace, and he begins to shake uncontrollably. "What is it, Erik?" Christine asks, softly stroking his unmasked cheek. Although she wishes to comfort him, her words only make him shake harder.

"Y-you are making the wrong choice, Christine," silent tears stream down his face, and her doe brown eyes snap up to stare at him. "You do not wish for a life with me," his eyes clench shut, as if when he opens them she will be gone. It's as if she is just another figure of his warped imagination, teasing and tantalizing him. But when he opens his teary golden eyes, he sees only the shocked Christine standing before him.

"What do you mean?" She frowns, her voice barely over a whisper. "I _long_ for a life with you," she pleads, tears forming in her own, doe brown eyes.

"Christine," Erik struggles with his words, still shaking in her arms. "I cannot provide you with the life you deserve, you must return to your boy," at his spoken words, Christine cries out and clings to his chest tighter. His heart lurches in his chest, as the tears silently stream down his face.

"No!" She states firmly, much louder than intended; her voice echoing against the walls of the catacombs. Tears stream from her brown eyes and she buries herself in his embrace, sobs emitting from her perfect pink mouth.

"Christine-" Erik starts, but the young soprano pulls her tear streaked face to look up into his golden eyes pleadingly. This causes him to grow quiet, and he gently reaches up and wipes away her tears.

"I'm not going to leave you, Erik," she tells him, taking his right hand and entwining it with her left. The one with the ring, _her_ ring that he had placed so delicately and lovingly on her finger the night before. _He must not remember how willing I was to stay,_ she pauses, _how willing_ _I_ am _to stay._ "I'm will never leave you again, angel," she murmurs, clinging to him, "Never."

"Christine, I-"

"I love you, Erik," she speaks, her voice back to it's normal melodic tone. His heart clenches in his chest at her words. Even though he has heard them before, he is still not used to the feeling; the feeling of being _loved._ Christine plants a kiss on his left cheek, causing his breathing to grow shallow and uneven. She reaches up her right hand and rests it against his mask. He freezes, but she still pulls it free from his face, causing him to shudder at the sudden cold air. "I love _all_ of you," she murmurs softly, standing on the tips of her toes to reach up and plant a kiss to his deformed cheek.

At this, Erik completely shatters, falling to the ground with Christine still in his arms. He cries, clinging to her desperately, and she simply carresses his face, kissing his deformity again and again. He was truly planning to leave this? To leave her?

After a while, the tears stop flowing, but Christine does not stop kissing him. She kisses every crevice, every bump and blemish in sight, then kisses it again. When she finally pulls away, Erik looks up at her with wonderment and sorrow.

"I love you, Erik," she repeats, then leans down and kisses his lips. Softly, sweetly, as if attempting to convey her sincerity into one touch. He kisses her back after a moment of shock, and their lips dance together as they lay in a heap on the floor. Christine somehow found a way into Erik's lap, wrapped up in his warm embrace.

They pull away, breathless. "And I love you, Christine," Erik murmurs, his eyes closed from ecstacy, and his heart soaring out of his chest. Christine smiles and curls up in his arms, placing her head at the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry," he says softly, looking at the suitcase he had packed, sitting before them. "I thought," he sighs as she nuzzles his neck lovingly, "I thought that I would be giving you your best chance."

"Did you doubt my love for you, angel?" Christine asks in a small voice, pain etched in each syllable.

Erik takes a deep breath, "Who could love someone such as I?" He whispers, a single tear falling down the right side of his face. Christine leans up and kisses the tear away, causing Erik's breath to hitch. She pulls away, still in his lap.

"Well, for one: there is me," she smiles up at him, and he looks down, meeting her gaze.

"How?" He asks softly, "How could love someone who looks like me, when you could be marrying the handsome vicomte?"

Christine sighs at Erik's self hatred. "Oh, Raoul has his flaws too...everybody does," she murmurs, cuddling back up against the crook of Erik's neck.

"What do you mean?" Erik asked, his voice growing agitated and angry, "Is my face not the worst of them all?"

Christine sits up in his lap and takes both sides of his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "I mean what I said, Erik - everybody has their own flaws," she speaks in a low voice, trying to keep him calm. "Although I personally love your face," she adds with a gentle smile, leaning up to kiss the marred flesh of his right cheek.

Erik looks up at her, frowning, "I-I don't understand..."

Christine strokes his cheek absentmindedly with her thumbs. "Raoul, he-" she takes a breath, considering how to put this. "Raoul was not at the house very often, really. He spent the majority of his time socializing with the important men of Paris who held high status." Christine frowned, seeming quite perturbed. There had been a number of days and nights where she had simply wished to be with him, but it seemed as though he was always just too busy to be with her. "Eventually I came to the realization that we no longer held the same interests or ideals, and what little time I _did_ spend with him was spent in boredom and silence. I could not very well contribute decent conversation on topics I do not hold interest in, can I?"

"So what you are saying is...you are bored of him," Erik comments softly, appearing almost confused. "What made you come back to me, then?" He holds her against his chest, cradling her in his arms as if she is the most delicate thing in the world.

Christine blushes, pressing her cheek against his form, "I...I missed music, Erik. I missed you." He hums in response, appearing to be lost in thought. After what seems like an eternity, Christine finally speaks again, lifting her head to glance up at him. "Please don't make me go back to him, Erik," her voice is soft, " _please._ "

Erik doesn't reply - not yet. He simply strokes her chocolate curls, contemplating his , the man gazes down at her, his golden eyes searching her face for something that, for now, remains unspoken. He strokes her cheek gently with his thumb, making her dark lashes flutter. His voice sounds strangely calm whenever he finally speaks, "Are you absolutely certain you wish to do this, my dear?"

Christine reaches up and places one petite hand upon his cheek. "I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life," she promises, leaning up to kiss the marred flesh. "I love you."

Erik silently clings to Christine. He holds her so tightly that she feels she may faint, but she does not complain. She does not lose consciousness; she simply stays as she is, gently stroking his face and murmuring comforting words. They both begin to succumb to sleep, so before they lose consciousness on the cold rock floor, Erik lifts Christine in his arms and lays her in the bed once more. "Will you not join me?" Christine murmurs drowsily as he steps away, but he is not leaving. He removes his jacket and vest, pulling off his dress shirt and shoes before joining the brunette beauty on the bed.

"I will," he whispers into her ear, causing her to let out a breathless giggle. He wraps an arm around her to pull her body comfortingly against his, making her hum in contentment. She turns around, so that she is facing him, and places a hand to his face, soothingly running her thumb over the blemished skin.

"I love you so much, Erik," Christine whispers, shuffling closer to his chest. She places her head just beneath his neck and wraps her arms about his waist. He breathes in her intoxicating scent for a moment, then kisses the top of her head lovingly.

"And I love you, my Christine," he murmurs softly, carefully caressing her chocolate curls. He slides an arm around her waist to pull her even closer to him, and she lets out a small yawn against his bare chest.

In this moment, the he feels like a Phantom no longer, but like a man. A _normal_ man just like anybody else; who kisses his woman, and takes her on strolls through the park on Sundays, and watches as she picks pink roses from the garden of their little home. He finally feels like these things are possible, that he _can_ make a home with the woman he loves, and that he _will_ take care of her for the rest of their days.

Erik soon drifts off to sleep once more, comforted by the warmth of Christine against him. His mind thinks of sunlight for the first time since childhood; of sunlight, and roses, and picnics, and spending life with Christine. He dreams that the world leaves them alone, forgetting about his murders and his face, forgetting about all that he has done wrong in life. He dreams that he finds a small home with Christine, away from civilization, and he dreams that they raise beautiful children of their own.


End file.
